I went clothes shopping today and spent wayyyy more than I should have. I bought clothes that make me feel very me- from the boys section, or otherwise very tomboyish. But stylish, of course.

Tomboy I think is the right word for me. Sometimes I feel like I’m a boy, when I’m feeling cool or in power or confident or strong. But I still want to be pretty.

When I’m with a girl I like, I feel more like the man, and I love it. I want to pick her flowers and sweep them off their feet and flirt and steer conversations. When I’m with a boy, I just feel like a not-so-girly-girl.

I looked up all the names of all the genders and you could say maybe I’m gender fluid, but I wouldn’t say I’m ever really truly a guy. Just a manly girl. A tomboy.

I don’t know why it matters so much to have a name for what I am but I’ve always been like that. So I thought about all of my options and Tomboy does it for me, surface level. If you want to know more you’ll just have to ask.

I love tattoos, and I have plans for many more than he small ones I have. However I no longer feel like I can get them, because I don’t know what size I will be in even a week. I don’t want stretched and then shrunken and restretched tattoos all over myself. I wish I could just stay this weight comfortably forever and not have to worry.

I want to get buttercups on my shoulder for my sister, a tree mandala on my upper arm for my mom, a tandem inside my arm for my dad, crossed blades on my forearm for my brother, and a chickadee on my ankle for my grandmother. Maybe more.

But I am too uncertain and nervous about my body to do anything about them now.

Her entire life is spent looking
Out a window no one else can see.
The raindrops play upon the glass
But she longs for them to bless her face.
Teardrops wash instead down her
Lonely, sheltered face
What good will the world be to her
If she’s only seen one piece?
She pounds upon the window pane
And hopes that it might shatter
But nothing happens.
Just like always.
All she can do
Is yearn.